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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28674084">Things a man oughta know</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghuenn/pseuds/Ghuenn'>Ghuenn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Family, Friendship/Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Spoilers, Swearing, alternative universe, canon? i don't know her</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:29:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28674084</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghuenn/pseuds/Ghuenn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“And what if it’s not the damn chip? What if it’s real? What if he really needs your help? What then, V?”</p><p>She hadn’t used that name since she found out she was pregnant. V had died in that gas station, 357.4 miles outside of Night City limits, when the traveling healer they’d been hunting for had finished that first scan.</p><p>But the feeling that these nightmares were real refused to go away. Maybe because all the nightmares started out the same way: in the fucking-bloody-landfill. Only this landfill wasn’t the one she remembered. </p><p>Because instead of her bloodied hands, gripping at old cartons of milk and discarded toasters as she crawled, hand over painfully slow hand, toward the fading blob that turned out to be Dexter DeShawn, she saw different hands. Steady hands that - on that day - had been pointing a gun at Dex’s face. Hands that had roughly dragged her out of that landfill. Hands that had held her down in place, as the voice belonging to them declared “I have found your Father’s killer, Yorinobu-san.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Goro Takemura &amp; Female V, Goro Takemura &amp; V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Country Roads</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="u">
    <strong>Oregon - 2087</strong>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">She tucked the twin katanas into their case and slung it over the back of the bike, along with the sniper. The saddle bags had enough food and water to get her there and back again. With a bit of care, of course.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Mama, why can’t I go with you?” </em>Jackie climbed on top of the bike, running her hand over the wheel bars.<em> “There’s plenty of room. And I’m old enough to go now! I can even drive.”</em></p><p class="p1"><em>“I know sweetheart. This is just a quick recon run - when we go back on the real hunt, you can come with me.</em>” Anna chuckled. She remembered the excitement of being nine. Even in this world, there was an unadulterated feeling of hope. The rush of possibility. Of growing up. Of leaving a mark. And in Jackie, she saw all the hope she’d felt back then.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Promise?” </em>Jackie’s eyes swelled with hope.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Promise. But we’re taking your brother too.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">Jackie rolled her eyes at that, but grinned anyway. “<em>Sure ma. But I’m older so I get to sit in front. And I get to hold the wheel.” </em>She was 53 seconds older. That was according to Mitch, anyway. He’d been counting the seconds as Carol and Cassidy delivered the twins in the back of the ripper tent at their makeshift camp in Arizona. Jackie had been first, a kicking and screaming bundle of black hair and blue eyes and the smallest fingers Anna had ever seen. Johnnie had come second, quickly and quietly. No fuss. And entirely unlike his namesake.</p><p class="p1">Anna swung her leg over the Arch. <em>“I’ll see you in a few weeks sweetheart. Call me on the holo if there is anything.” </em>With a final wave, she drove down the road, dust kicking up behind her.</p><p class="p1">The dreams had been getting worse. More vivid. This time he was crawling out of a landfill - the same landfill she’d dragged herself out of ten years ago - calling for her. Screaming for her. Was it the chip? Had the last ten years been nothing else but dumb fucking luck? Or was it something else?</p><p class="p1">There’d been more cats around lately. Real flesh-and-blood cats. There were no cat ghosts to be had here, in the wilds of Oregon. Samurai and Cowboy had found some local strays and - as the saying went - life just found a way from there. Just like Nibbles had when she’d given birth to a little of 6, a little after Jackie and Johnnie were born. Now the sound of wild meows followed her as she moved around the land, ghost cats and real cats calling out together.</p><p class="p1">But this wasn’t a land for ghosts. Not for her ghosts, anyway. It had its own, ones left over from the great Aldecaldo move out to the freedom-adjacent lands of the north-west, far from Night City. There was Freddie, who’d survived raid after raid only to get brought low by a cyber virus from one of the raided cars. They’d buried him behind the Big Tree - a leftover red oak from a different time that refused to die. They’d buried Cowboy’s first stillborn litter of kittens there too. Cowboy had refused to leave Freddie’s side that winter. Later, she often slept curled up at the trunk of that tree, watching over him and the lost kittens.</p><p class="p1">The winters and summers were milder here. The land almost seemed to embrace them. <em>Almost</em>. Different dangers lurked. Different possibilities. Different ghosts.</p><p class="p1">After the desert, it was the new start they’d all needed. Something they could call their own. Somewhere to return to after long scavenging trips out into the unfriendlier parts of NUSA. Away from the Snake Nation. Away from the Corps. Away from the city.</p><p class="p1">But none of this mattered right now. The memories of how they’d gotten here - of how <em>she </em>had wound up here - didn’t matter right now. What mattered was finding the cause of those nightmares. Finding the cause and putting an end to it. And if it was the damn chip - if ten years was all the time she’d been able to scrounge back - then she’d rather know now. She’d rather prepare. Spend it with Jackie and Johnnie, teaching them how to strip the bike’s engine. Or make a great cup of synth coffee. Or what to do when your rifle jams in the middle of a scrap. All the things she’d wished her parents taught her. And all the things they were still a little young for.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“And what if it’s not the damn chip? What if it’s real? What if he really needs your help? What then, V?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">She hadn’t used <em>that </em>name since she found out she was pregnant. V had died in that gas station, 357 miles outside of Night City, when the traveling healer they’d been hunting for had finished that first scan. She didn’t believe in miracles, but it had felt like one. That’s when she’d truly decided to <em>live</em>. That’s when she returned to being Anna Valerie Hughes, the person, instead of V., the killing machine.</p><p class="p1">But the feeling that these nightmares went beyond the chip persisted. It refused to leave. Maybe because all the nightmares started out the same way: in the fucking-bloody-landfill. Only this landfill wasn’t the one she remembered.</p><p class="p1">Because instead of her bloodied hands, gripping at old cartons of milk and discarded toasters as she crawled, hand over painfully slow hand, toward the fading blob that turned out to be Dexter DeShawn, she saw different hands. Steady hands that - on that day - had been pointing a gun at Dex’s face. Hands that had roughly dragged her out of that landfill. Hands that had held her down in place, as the voice belonging to them declared<em> “I have found your Father’s killer, Yorinobu-san.”</em></p><p class="p1">But in the dream, he was the one crawling toward her. He was the one calling out for help. And she was the one with the gun.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <b>Night City - 2087</b>
</p><p class="p1">It felt like a different place. Like she’d stumbled into some kind of alternative universe. Like time had moved while she stood still. Or was it the other way around? Was it Night City that had changed or her? Or maybe a little bit of both, two ex-friends, drifting away from each other until they became completely unrecognizable.</p><p class="p1">Until the only thing that tied them together was a string of bitter-sweet memories that didn’t quite feel like they belonged to either anymore.</p><p class="p1">Anna didn’t remember it smelling so raw. Like it was too real, too present for her senses to keep up with. Even on that first run across the border - back when she ran with the Bakkers several lifetimes ago - Night City had smelled like freedom. Well… like freedom if freedom smelled like stale soda on the sidewalk mixed with a dash of fresh urine and a couple of rotting hot dogs.</p><p class="p1">And on that run when she first became V - fighting her way through the border with Jackie and the Iguana-on-ice - pulling off the highway and ditching their Corpo tails smelled of hope. Of new beginnings. Of death and life and disease and possibility. A potent mix of synth noodles and half-rotting bodies, too many to be collected by the NCPD.</p><p class="p1">Night City had been home. <em>Her</em> home. The only home she’d ever wanted after leaving the Bakkers.</p><p class="p1">But now - being back here after all these years - Anna felt like she’d stumbled into a past that wasn’t quite hers. Out here Anna mixed together with V until she felt like she was something else. Not quite the person she was now, but not quite who she’d been then either. </p><p class="p1">The Arch seems to know its own way around, taking the exit ramp off the highway and into Watson. She parked in front of Vik’s - in the same spot where Jackie used to leave it when he’d stop by to bring Misty coffee or watch a boxing match with Vik.</p><p class="p1">Well… right up until some Tyger claws attempted to jack it. After that he parked in the megablock - dead Tygers tended to leave a bit of a mess and Vik didn’t appreciate it for some reason.</p><p class="p1">Misty’s Esoterica was gone now, of course. She’d gone up to Oregon to see Judy a few years back and stayed. Something about the lakes out there made the tarot seem stronger, she’d said. Now the place was another BD store.</p><p class="p1">Vik had gone too.</p><p class="p1">Mama Welles had rented him the garage behind the restaurant - Jackie’s old garage. Jackie’s old <em>home</em>.</p><p class="p1">It had sat there, as a silent monument to memories long gone, until Vik made the offer. He needed a new place to work. And Mama Welles needed to stop seeing ghosts every time she turned in her own house. And while Anna doubted that the ghosts had ever really left the building, at least they had flesh-and-blood company now. Jackie’s ghost could watch the boxing match over Vik’s shoulder and give “helpful” commentary as Vik swapped out chrome for the Valentinos and Padre’s revolving door of wanna-be mercs.</p><p class="p1">Anna knew she’d have to go see the real Vik soon. But for now she just sat on the bike, sitting on the border between two versions of Night City: the one that was and the one that is. They mixed together, almost becoming one before breaking apart again.</p><p class="p1">It had all started here.</p><p class="p1">It had started with a pair of borrowed Kiroshi optics and big dreams.</p><p class="p1">It had almost ended here too, as she laid splayed out on Vik’s operating table, after the Delamaine dropped her and Takemura at the doorstop, closer to death than not. Here, Vik - against all odds - had brought her back.</p><p class="p1">It was here that she got her life back, only to learn that she was about to lose it again. That the chip that had saved her was now killing her by rewriting her biology one atom at a time. It’s as if she’d stepped in a storybook that had a twisted sense of poetic justice. Where the gods gave life one minute, only to rip it away the next.</p><p class="p1">And now there was no trace of them. No sign any of them had ever been here. The billboards, the windows, the storefronts - all different, all unfamiliar. The only thing that stayed the same was the parking spot.</p><p class="p1">***</p><p class="p1">She tried to cross the bridge from Watson to Haywood three times, and every time something pulled her back. Like she was a marionette, tied with invisible strings that only stretched so far and no farther.</p><p class="p1">As if some invisible force or the gods or the fucking universe, didn’t want her stepping over the invisible barrier that kept the two districts apart.</p><p class="p1">But she knew that the only thing standing in the way was her own fear. They’d talked on the phone, of course. And just two years ago, Vic and Mama Welles had driven over to the halfway point between the Aldacaldo camp and Night City. They’d stayed at a motel for a week, as Jackie and Johnny got to know the family they only knew on the holo.</p><p class="p1">That had been there. There had been no ghosts at that motel, just a family together at last.</p><p class="p1">But back at the Coyote Loco, it was different. V - Anna - had stayed at that house when she first arrived. She’d cried at that table after their third gig went shits up. She’d made homemade burritos with Mama Welles, who’d insisted that there was a difference between the crap you got from the vending machine and the real thing and V was going to taste it and admit it once and for all.</p><p class="p1">She was about to go somewhere with memories. She was about to lie down on Vik’s table again. And both versions of her - Anna and V - weren’t sure she was ready for that.</p><p class="p1">But on the fourth try, she crossed that bridge.</p><p class="p1">And thirty minutes later, she parked the Arch by the dumpsters - the spot that said <em>“If you jack this, you’ll have trouble. (And if you park here and you ain’t one of us, you’ll have trouble too.)”</em></p><p class="p1">The bar hadn’t changed.</p><p class="p1">Tequilla, beer and tacquitos mixed together with sweat and candle smoke to create a unique aroma. Pepe was gone though - he’d died 4 years ago in a car-jacking gone wrong. Anna didn’t recognize the new barman. And he didn’t recognize her. There was something strangely comforting in that.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You want a drink?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Looking for Mamma Welles, she around?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Why, you know her? Mamma don’t like to be disturbed by no strangers.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Anna, mija! I can’t believe you’re here. Come. You eaten? Geordie, bring some food over, si? He’s a good boy. Dumb boy, but good. He tries to look out for me.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">Anna let herself be guided to one of the tables in the corner. Mama Welles paused, taking Anna's face in her hands, pressing palms to cheeks, studying the lines.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You look tired mija. This is why you here?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I… Yes. Need to see Vik.”</em>
</p><p class="p1"><em>“It’s not that again, is it?” </em>She doesn’t have to say what “that” is. They both know.<em> “I thought you were cured! And last time you looked so happy, so alive. You been working too hard? The kids not listening to their mama?” </em>Mama Welles looked like she knew exactly what she’d do about that.</p><p class="p1"><em>“I don’t know.” </em>It was the truth. Most of it, anyway. “<em>It started a few months ago. Migranes. Nightmares. It’s not quite the same but…” </em>She shrugged. It was close enough to be worth checking out.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Nightwares.” </em>Mama Welles whispered. “<em>Well, those aren’t always that mija… with the life you had, with the memories you had, maybe it’s just the past coming to say hello, no?”</em></p><p class="p1"><em>“Maybe.” </em>But Anna didn’t believe that. She knew what those dreams felt like. They were different. They had their own feel, their own colors. When she dreams of that, it was in faded yellows and greens, like she was watching an old movie that wasn’t quite black and while but didn’t have what it took to be in color either.</p><p class="p1">But these dreams? They were real. Vivid. Like the “dreams” she’d had when Johnny Silverhand shared her brain. Only this time it wasn’t Johnny.</p><p class="p1">It was someone she’d rather forget.</p><p class="p1">Someone she’d rather leave in the past where he belonged. Away from her family. Away from her. Away from could-have, would-have, what-ifs.</p><p class="p1">“<em>You eat now, yes? And you tell me all about the kids. Leave no details - I will know. Did Johnny like that new knife I sent, yes? And Jackie? She loved the toolbox for the bike? She’s so much like her uncle. You tell me all. And then you go see Vik.”</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Funny Girl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <b>Night City - 2077</b>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Shut up asshole.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">Her translation software picked that up and she tried not to laugh, pursing her lips, intently staring at the spot just above Wakako’s head. Takemura re-introduced himself - using his actual name - all tradition and manners and politeness. Years of training didn’t just evaporate.</p><p class="p1">Neither did years of loyalty.</p><p class="p1">V hoped he wouldn’t become a problem later - yet another loose end she’d need to tie up.</p><p class="p1">But the way the last couple of weeks had gone, it wouldn’t be surprising.</p><p class="p1">For now, he was useful. For now, he was her only way into Arasaka. The only way to track Mikoshi. Johnny Silverhand reminded her of that. He reminded her every time she made a joke that pushed their new partner just a liiiitle farther than he was comfortable.</p><p class="p1"><em>“I may hate his guts, but this ‘Saka bastard may be useful to us V. Keep that leash in your hand. Don’t lose him because you can’t keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” </em>He’d glare at her, as he shimmered in and out of frame. In and out of being.</p><p class="p1">“<em>It reminds me I’m alive Johnny.” </em>She’d shrug. “<em>It’s one of the few things that still reminds me I’m alive.”</em></p><p class="p1">She was dying, she reminded herself again. Dying. And she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to have a little fun with the time that was left. Whatever else happened.</p><p class="p1"><em>“A true gentleman you’ve brought me, V. Shame, only, that he’s being hunted by all Arasaka’s tin soldiers. And you bring him to my door.” </em>Wakako said softly. It wasn’t displeasure V heard in her voice. Not exactly.</p><p class="p1">There was no love lost between Wakako and Arasaka.</p><p class="p1">There were rumors about the cause of course, but V hadn’t been in the city long enough to know which ones were true. <em>“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t notify the proper “authorities” right away.”</em></p><p class="p1">V took a long, slow breath. Almost languid. Even if the rumors were true, revenge didn’t seem like the right angle. Too personal. Too risky. You didn’t stay in business this long if you mixed biz and fam. And Wakako had gone through five husbands and decades upon decades of biz.</p><p class="p1">So V chose the obvious answer.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Eddies is why. Always about eddies, Wakako. You wanna make ‘em - we got biz. Doesn’t get any simpler.” </em>Making it about the eddies, and only the eddies, let all of them walk out of here without revealing anything too uncomfortable that could be traced back. That could be misinterpreted by the wrong set of ears.</p><p class="p1"><em>“So tell me.” </em>Wakako said <em>“And mark well I still have my phone at hand.”</em></p><p class="p1"><em>“Need intel on the parade that’s about to come through Japantown.”</em> V chose to go for straight forward. There was no point beating ‘round the bush with Wakako.</p><p class="p1"><em>“So it’s Arasaka. Again.” </em>Wakako folded her arms, taking a step back. It wasn’t a no, V knew that much. If it was a no, she woulda’ had her pet claws chuck both of them out of the parlor by now. <em>“What I fail to understand is… why come to me? Did Mr. DeShawn not come to the phone?”</em></p><p class="p1">This was as closes as Wakako was going to get to saying she knew about Kompeki plaza without saying it. They’d known each other long enough, done enough jobs together to hear the invisible words hiding in the cracks between the sentences.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“C’mon. You got your finger on the hood’s pulse. Know everything. Parade honoring Saburo Arasaka? You’re preppin’ in some way, no doubt.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">The claws would be on alert. So would the shops. There’d be an influx of tourists. Which meant crowds. And crowds meant opportunities. Good opportunities, for fixers like Wakako. But good opportunities for corpo bastards like Arasaka too. For doing the dirty when everyone else’s attention was divested elsewhere.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Won’t see me dressed in mourning.” </em>Wakako nodded, ignoring Takemura’s grunt of surprise.<em> “But the rest it true. Everything is on the shards.”</em></p><p class="p1"><em>“How much does this cost?” </em>Takemura asked.<em> “My pockets… are empty.” </em>They hadn’t discussed payment.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Clearly. My gift to you. It is free.” </em>Wakako laid the shards out on the table in front of them.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Okada-san… What is free often proves most costly.” </em>Takemura’s voice had a tense note to it. Like he expected the price to appear in the guise of ‘Saka ninjas ready to drag both of them back to Yorinobu and destroy any shot at revenge he had.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Gonna take them or not?” </em>Wakako asked.</p><p class="p1"><em>“For free? You sure?” </em>V had at least expected to barter. A favor for a favor. Or for ten. Rogue locating Hellman? That had cost a cool 15,000 eddies. But the plans to the whole of Japantown? When it was clear they planned to do something that would probably be both stupid and dangerous…</p><p class="p1"><em>“Got my reasons, but patience I have none.” </em>Wakako folded her hands and V took the shards. They walked through the plans together, noting the balconies, foot bridges, positions.</p><p class="p1"><em>“At the end, the floats will float out of Japantown and we’ll be left with trash up to our elbows that no one will collect. That’s it. That’s all I have.” </em>Wakako sighed and placed her hands back on the desk. The conversation was over. So was the meeting.</p><p class="p1"><em>“It must be enough.” </em>Takemura nodded. “<em>We appreciate this, Okada-san.”</em></p><p class="p1"><em>“Thanks Wakako.” </em>V said and exited the parlor. They walked toward the end of Jig Jig street, past the sex shops and the hot dog stand. The hot dog stand… V stopped and did a U-turn, forgetting for a moment that she was with someone.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Two hot dogs and a coffee. G, you want anything?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">He gave her a hard look. A “we’re planning a serious heist and you seem to be distracted” look. An “I wish you were more like the Arasaka soldiers I’m used to working with” look. V ignored it. She took the hot dogs and the coffee, paid the eddies, and headed for one of the wide banisters to the side. She took a sit.</p><p class="p1">Takemura pretended the gap in their conversation hadn’t happened.</p><p class="p1"><em>“A delightful, mature woman.” </em>he said instead. <em>“This information… it could be just what we need. But I will try to investigate further. I will stay here some time and call some associates. The moment I learn something new, I will let you know.” </em>He was dismissing her.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You sure you don’t want a hot dog?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">He sniffed in her direction, nose crinkling. <em>“Is it… is it any good?”</em></p><p class="p1">V laughed. She couldn’t help it. Even by her standards, Jig-Jig street hot dogs were disgusting. Whatever mashed-up non-meat substance they were made of, these were close to winning a competition for least appetizing street food ever. If there were such competitions, anyway.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Nope. They are awful. But they’re food. And I bet you haven’t eaten in a while.” </em>She held out the second hot dog. He took it and - after a long pause - sat down beside her.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“We probably shouldn’t spend time together in public like this.”</em>
</p><p class="p1"><em>“You prefer we find somewhere more secluded? A secret dumpster? Or maybe another abandoned landfill with a few fresh corpses for company?” </em>In the three weeks they’d known each other - if you counted the two weeks she’d been splayed out on Vic’s operating table as “knowing each other” - those places, and Jig Jig street, were about the only ones they’d been together.</p><p class="p1"><em>“A secret dumpster - as you say - would be about the same as here. Smell may be even nicer.” </em>He took a bite of the hot dog, scrunched his face again, swallowed and took another one. <em>“You were correct. This hot dog is awful.”</em></p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Told ya.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“But you still bought it. And made me eat it.”</em>
</p><p class="p1"><em>“You might not believe it” </em>V shrugged “<em>But this is some of the best food on Jig Jig Street. People don’t really come here for the food fare.” </em>She nodded toward the dolls on the corner. “<em>Food’s more of an afterthought. For energy and shit.”</em></p><p class="p1"><em>“This implies that there is somewhere in this city where food is more than an afterthought.” </em>He almost sounded hopeful. Almost. If you scraped away the layer of disgust, distrust and general annoyance. If you looked past a man stuck in a situation that would have been the stuff of nightmares four weeks ago.</p><p class="p1">“<em>In the Corpo districts?”</em> V said<em> “Sure. ‘Saka headquarters probably has the kind of food you sit down and savor ‘cause up there in the clouds, eatin’ isn’t about survival. There, as you said, it can be more than an afterthought. But here, mixing it in the dirt with the rest of us mortals? We eat to live. One awful hot dog at a time.”</em></p><p class="p1">She took another bite of hot dog with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Then drowned it with a sip of coffee as quickly as possible.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Here. This will make it taste slightly better.” </em>She passed over her coffee. Like with every small gesture of normalcy she made toward him, he looked at her like she’d just handed him a live, hissing cobra. “<em>Look, G, I may be dying but you’re not gonna catch it from drinking from my coffee, k?”</em></p><p class="p1"><em>“G. Why do you call me that? It is not my name. I have told you my name.” </em>He took the coffee and held it a few inches away from his face, examining it. As if the liquid was suddenly going to bubble from the cup, spewing deathly poison.</p><p class="p1">“<em>I was working off the assumption that your former bosses aren’t fuckin’ dumb. That they’ll havefolks out here lookin’ for ya. And so using your name, Hadeshi Hino, may not be the best idea. You already walk about like you own the place. Dead giveaway, that. Let’s not give people other reasons to stare, yeah?”</em></p><p class="p1">She watched him take a slow sip of her coffee. Almost thoughtfully. Like something she said had finally surprised him without making him want to order her to do endless push-ups while reciting the Arasaka recruitment booklet.</p><p class="p1">“<em>Yes. This makes sense. I will allow it. For now.” </em>He took another sip. “<em>And you were right. The coffee makes this hot dog… bearable.”</em></p><p class="p1">V smiled and got up. It was almost a thank you. Almost.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Stay safe G. Text me if you need anything. And keep the coffee, I’ll grab another one.”</em>
</p><p class="p1"><em>“You as well. Until next time, V.” </em>He remained where he was, hot dog in one hand, coffee in the other. Something about her ate away at his calm. Like she knew exactly which way to twist and prod to hit all his buttons. She lacked discipline. And as far as he could tell, she lacked honor too.</p><p class="p1">A two bit thief.</p><p class="p1">An <em>opportunist</em>.</p><p class="p3">But difficult times made for difficult allies. And if working with her was the cost for revenging Arasaka-san’s death, then he’d work with her. He’d work with her for as long as it took. And not one second longer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apparently, today was the day for writing! In future, will prob be updating this at weekends. The story struck me yesterday as I was replaying some of Takemura's bits</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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